


SWTOR Shorts

by DarkShadeless



Series: SWTOR - collection [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Gen, depends on the chapter, mixed bag of stuff, some drama
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-20 06:07:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 3,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10656495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkShadeless/pseuds/DarkShadeless
Summary: Short stories my SWTOR characters throw at me. Have fun.





	1. Immortality

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pomegrenadier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pomegrenadier/gifts).



> Not beta'ed, all mistakes are mine. Also, I haven't written anything in forever. You've been warned.
> 
> Gifted to pomegrenadier, who dared me to write Yon picking up poor Sewlor as an Apprentice.  
> This... is absolutely not what you asked for but it made me laugh, so here it is?
> 
> When they had ended up in this strange future the last thing on Yon'Sar's mind had been to question just how the galaxy did, or did not, remember him.  
> Needless to say he found out.

Even in the still-holo it was big. It was also rather unmistakeable.

Yon did the only sensible thing left to someone in his position. “ _Why_.”

Beside him Vette lost her fight against laughter. The only thing keeping her upright was her grip on his shoulder. “That’s what, fifty meters? It’s bigger than the one on Dromund Kaas!”

Jaesa made a valiant attempt at tact. “It’s very,” It was many things, most best left unsaid. “Memorable?” Her Master groaned and buried his face in his hands. “I mean it’s really well made?”

The questioning lilt was somehow made even more audible by Vette’s near breathless hilarity. “And it made it, what was it, three thousand years? They must’ve really wanted you to stay down!”

Sewlor cocked his head and viewed the object of their attention from a slightly different angle. “Indeed. That’s definitely bribery. Wait, I think,” he leaned a bit closer to the image, “I think it comes with a pyramid, too.”

Lost for words all Yon could do was pat his Twi’lek friend’s shoulder when the next bout of laughter made her struggle for oxygen. “A statue. They made me a kriffing statue. A kriffing, K’lor’slug infested monument. On _Korriban_.”

“And a pyramid, Master.” Sewlor’s wit could have drained the water out of a Kaas City summer storm.

“Thank you so much, Apprentice. I almost missed that.”

“I’m not sure how, Master. It’s _huge_.”

Well, at least his kids were having fun with this. 


	2. History

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tahl was enjoying herself entirely too much.

„You wish for me to read this to you.“ Yon’Sar sounded about as blank as a Lord of the Sith could. Which was to say _very_ , with an edge of tension that had all beings in hearing range tense for the inevitable explosion.

Seeing as the man had yet to do anything that could be classed an active threat, that wasn’t as terrifying as it might have been. If one discounted the initial standoff.

Tahl was inclined to do so. She was, in all honesty, not sure who had pulled their lightsabres first.

It had been about a month since their small exploration group had stumbled over the wrong rune in the last Temple and torn the fabric of the universe right down the middle just long enough for it to spit out a time-displaced _Sith_.

As it turned out, a month could be a long time. Especially dragging their asses out of a half-collapsed ruin to limp homewards with a broken down hyper drive. Never let it be said that cramped quarters did not make for strange bedfellows.

_Not literally. Force, now I need brain bleach._

As much as their acquaintance had been devoid of murder, so far, it was hard enough to sleep with that vast presence right there, at the edge of her perception. He kept it nebulous and well-shielded but it was still _heavy_.

The one time he had brought it to bear, in the Temple when they had all still been in shock, the feeling alone had made her knees weak and reduced her student to a shivering wreck. The power of it, fierce and Dark.

He could have killed them in that moment, Tahl was certain. Could kill them, even now.

That certainty wasn’t enough to pass by the opportunity to gain historic knowledge, first hand, that had been lost _centuries_ ago. Hadn’t been enough barely a week in, when she had first started to ‘poke the rancor’ as her Padawan put it. _Micah is going to kill me, if the damned Sith doesn’t._

It was so _fascinating_.

For Force’s sake, the man dated back to a time when ‘Sith’ could mean the Order or a race, interchangeably! They had managed to pinpoint his origin to ‘sometime after the Great Galactic War’ before the lack of history about anything regarding the Sith had made itself painfully apparent.

And he had been there.

 _‘Fighting against the Republic!’_ a part of Tahl, that sounded entirely too much like her old Master, kept screeching but it could take a short hike out the airlock in hyperspace. She wasn’t getting an opportunity like this again.

Then Sar had, in an offhand comment about code of practice dictating that Sith acolytes be educated on Korriban if they wanted to get anywhere in the hierarchy, hinted at his own family traditions.

Traditions that were, apparently, passed down for more generations than her understanding of the Jedi library wanted to comprehend. Tahl felt a little like taking hold of someone and shaking them. She wasn’t sure whom. Whomever it was that was responsible for their _abysmal lack of continuous historic records_.

 _Was this what it felt like to be lured to the Dark Side?_ If so it felt entirely too much like being saddled with extra reports for requesting access to holocrons Jocasta Nu did not feel like airing out.

In short, she was doing her best to drag every shred of information she could out of their increasingly bewildered travel companion.

 _There is no ignorance, there is knowledge._ Tahl was rather sure if her old Master could see what lengths she was taking the maxims to he would be appalled. She was hard pressed to care.

Her latest foray into ill-advised information gathering was fuelled by the discovery that their guest could read honest-to-the-Force High Sith. Not only that, Yon’Sar kept calling it ‘Kittât’ and cursing over grammatically challenged idiots every time she handed him a pad with scraps of text younger than a millennia and a half. It was wonderful.

She was, Tahl was certain, enjoying herself entirely too much.


	3. History II (Snippet)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pitfalls of perspection.

“Crecheling, to Initiate, to Padawan, to Knight, to Master.”

“Novice, to Neophyte, to Acolyte, to Apprentice, to Lord.”

“But both of the first ones mean a beginner!”

“No, no, no. A novice is a youngling. A neophyte has found the Path to be theirs and is committed.”

“Wait, are you trying to tell me a Sith Apprentice equates a Knight?”

“…” Silence. “When do you have your Trials?”

“Which ones?”

“The ones where they stuff you into a ritual chamber, the serious ones.”

“Knighthood.”

“Then I’d say an Acolyte equates a Knight. Or they did before they stopped doing the traditional Force-Trial for all whose family didn’t take care of it, to increase graduation rates.”

“ ** _What_** _!_ ”

“It was war. I’m not saying I agree. Strength of will is paramount.”

“But- That- The _Acolytes_?”

“Even without the Trials they are expected to hold their own in study and battle. I’d put them on a level with your Apprentices at least.”

This was entirely disturbing.

The look on his face said he agreed wholeheartedly. “Why would you lot send _Padawans_ into the field? Why? This scale can’t be right, they’d be _babies_.”

“Well, some of them are. Some of them are not.”

“ _How does that even make sense_.”


	4. Not quite but almost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A small shift is all it takes. Yon comes to Korriban a week late and misses his ‘chance’ to apprentice under Darth Baras. (good riddance)  
> He does not become the Emperor’s Wrath. What he becomes instead is highly irritated in a professional capacity.
> 
> Or, the one were Yon’Sar ends up being an instructor at the Korriban academy.

In another life, things might have been different. Yon might have spent his life doing his utmost to be a symbol, a flawless representation of passion, strength and honor. A faceless spectre, unrelenting and unstoppable. Someone whose presence would bolster the morale of their troops and break the spirit of their enemies.

He would have served well and faithfully, his doubts a private, quiet thing.

There is no space for doubt here. Not when these damned brats are trying their best to be the _end_ of him, sometimes literally. Not so today but that doesn’t change that his pulse is already pounding with aggravation. He hasn’t even had breakfast yet.

Yes, had things been different he would have been silent, looming menace, for all of his five feet in height.

Wrath he might not be but Yon still manages to appear larger than life. His presence in the Force is blooming like a burgeoning explosion. His students cringe almost as one.

“What the _kriff_ were you thinking? That tablet was five thousand years old!”

Yare, who is both braver and more eager to please than the rest, dares venture into an explanation. More fool he. “Well. Uhm. You said-”

“I karking know what I said! ‘ _Get the pieces_ ’ not _make more_!”

There is really nothing quiet about Instructor Sar. He seems at a perpetual simmer of irritation that is just waiting for his Acolytes to provide it with a spark. And provide it they do. Often and with accuracy.

Yare watches as their collective teacher’s temper detonates into recriminations and punishment details, liberally peppered with more curses than he has heard since they dragged him from the slave pens in Bosthirda. If their instructor is to be believed they’ll be shining the atrium until the next century.

That will probably turn out to be about a month. A month of their taskmaster breathing down their neck until their assigned space is _absolutely spotless,_ or so help them the Force. Which it won’t. He has heard Rinali venture, _very very quietly_ , that not even the Force would be stupid enough to mess with Instructor Sar’s detentions.

Yare can’t help but agree. Very, very quietly.

Sar’s a little terrifying. He doesn’t doubt their teacher would _actually_ make them de-infest one of the more obscure tombs from the latest outbreak of whatever vermin manages to crawl back from the recesses of extinction through some Inquisitor spell gone wrong, or sheer dumb luck because this is Korriban and such things happen here.

_Who is he kidding, ten creds say it will be the Sith magic and whatever idiot spawns the little monsters won’t even have the decency to die doing it._

But, if they’re lucky that won’t happen until the next disaster. Maybe. Seeing as Instructor Sar has to threaten them with cleaning duty instead of a horrible, drawn-out death.


	5. Snapshot - Common Ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the summit is called, the Wrath pays Darth Marr a visit.
> 
> -
> 
> Yeah, I don't even know. There's more story to this but it's not post-able so far so this is what you get xD

‘ _I have to be there.’_

_‘Do you?’ Idle curiosity._

_‘Yes. Circumstances might require my intervention in some way.’_

_‘I wasn’t aware you had a gift for precognition.’ Marr had caught the implication. Yon expected nothing less of a mind like his._

_‘It’s rarely this clear. I must be there. There is every chance that I will not return.’_

_‘And I should allow the possible loss of one of our greatest assets at the hands of the Jedi because-?’_

_‘Because it will be worth it.’_

_A moment of silent, mutual examination._

_‘Very well.’_

 


	6. Lost in Translation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, Obi-Wan did wonder whom he had displeased in his last life to deserve this one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I felt like crack. Resonance got a bit dark, so there.  
> Apparently I find translation shenanigans hilarious. We all need our hobbies, I suppose.

Sometimes, Obi-Wan did wonder whom he had displeased in his last life to deserve this one. ‘Interesting times’ indeed.

Raising a Padawan that had the dubious pleasure of being the subject of a prophecy that was over a thousand of years old was taxing enough. Finding out the damned thing might actually be _Sith_ in origin was a shock fit to turn him grey before his time.

Naturally, it had gotten worse from there.

It had seemed so logical, to search for the roots of the verses in question. When that had only lead to tablets in nigh untranslatable cuneiform, to at least try and bolster their understanding of the language.

‘How,’ he lamented, in the privacy of his own mind, ‘do these things always end up like _this_.’

The answer, likely as not, was connected to his incredible luck and Grandmaster Yoda, in equal measure.

That the series of Temples and Shrines they had dug up the location of at the arse end of the galaxy was as temperamental as it was steeped in the Dark Side hadn’t been a surprise. Not even that it tried to devour them, much as something without a digestive system could.

The surprise, Obi-Wan thought, was that despite the fact that he and his fellow Knights were the only living beings within ten klicks, they weren’t _alone_.

_Sith hells. It was supposed to be a myth!_

 

 

_/Well, this thing is worse than useless./_

The words echoed through him as if they were meant for a species communicating in the lower bass spectrum. Obi-wan tried to hold on to his hard-earned control. It wasn’t an easy feat. Encountering an actual, honest to the Force _Sith spirit,_ thousands of years dead and still making a nuisance of himself, had been bad enough.

Now there were _two_. And they were, by the look of things, picking apart his efforts at decoding the Prophecy he had come here to research.

In no universe should a quest for knowledge have translated to taking a wrong turn in an ominous Temple, finding a trapdoor instead of solid flooring and tumbling into the company of actual ghosts like an uninvited guest at a deeply disturbing tea party.

At least they seemed to find his data pad more interesting than the Jedi it belonged to.

The one holding it, a faceless figure all in white, was turning it this way and that before flipping it upside down entirely. / _Ah! Now we’re getting somewhere._ /

His companion, _friend?_ , a floating spectre shrouded in voluminous black robes seemed less than endeared with the venture. / _You’re wasting your time._ /

Obi-Wan got the impression that the first one was rolling his eyes. / _We have nothing **but** time. At least this is entertaining._ /

A deep, heartfelt sigh seemed to come from all directions at once. It sounded somehow both resigned and aggressive at once. / ** _Cousin_** _. There are **Jedi** in our tomb./_

/ _Yes, yes. Let me mock the sentence structure, if nothing else, will you?_ / The lighter see-though entity floated out of reach of the other one as if to prevent it from stealing the pad.

Obi-Wan watched the slow dance in bewilderment, before something else made it through the fog of disbelieve and fear he was trying to release into the force. “You can read it.”

He could have kicked himself.

Both Sith halted, immaterial robes fluttering in the stale air that couldn’t have seen a breeze in centuries.

Then the white one floated a little closer. Obi-Wan tensed with the shrinking distance, cold sweat on his brow. The Dark surrounding them was like a shroud, heavy and all encompassing. He had to use every meditation exercise he had ever learned to keep his breathing even. / _Well, of course._ /

It must have been the same urge that saw him flirting with his opponents so often that guided his tongue. “Will you tell me what it says, then?”

/ _Hm._ / He had, it seemed, intrigued at least one of them. / _Maybe. What will you give me if I do?_ /

/ ** _Cousin!_** /

/ _Oh, shush, Callin. We might get those Jedi off our back after all, wouldn’t that be nice?_ /

/ _We could just **kill** them!_ /

/ _Where’s the fun in that?_ /

/ ** _Yon’Sar al Thum_** _! By the Seven Hells, if you try to make friends with them I will tell our Grandmother on you!_ /

/ _Now, see? That is just mean. That’s why none of the other kids want to play with you anymore Cal-ly. That’s why you’re stuck with **me**._ /

/ ** _Argh_**!/

The black robed figure expanded in a shout of displeasure, disturbing the still air with the force of its ire. Obi-Wan shielded his face against the sudden wind. ‘What in the name of the Force have I gotten myself into?’

 

\---

 

After some more deliberation (that took all the longer for how often it was interrupted by the bickering of the _dead_ ) Obi-Wan managed to get himself, Quinlan and Siri free passage out of the hell-hole of a Temple if they swore not to take or destroy anything. A mere promise might not have meant much in the face of so much Darkness roaming free but the oath seemed to reverberate through his very being once spoken.

Honor aside, he did not feel like chancing Sith magics.

On the upside the white one, Darth Sar? Lord Al Thum?, seemed to know his way around the brain-breaking language the Prophecy of the Chosen One had originally been worded in. One had to count one’s blessings. Even if the blessings were on the cranky side and nit-picking the grammar of millennia-old revered Jedi Masters. Or Sith. Whomever had produced this damned piece of prescience and then translated it.

/ _What kind of spice-addled moron wrote this?_ /

Thankfully his less-than alive but entirely too aware interpreter didn’t seem to require much in the way of answers to his diatribes. Obi-wan still found his tongue tied more often than not by their sheer spine chilling presence.

/ _I mean, this a passage alone. ‘And he will be born to this world but be without Father.’ How is that in any way useful? You don’t need a Father. Immeasurable amounts of Sith had no Father. **I** had no Father._/

“What?” That… His brain refused to make sense of that.

There was a silence.

Then the black cloud of temper swirling around at the edges of the chamber broke out in peals of dark laughter that only ended when its companion chucked a rock right through it.

/ _Kriff you. I hate basic. At least Kittât makes **sense**!_ /

/ _Sense? Have you lost your last bit of sanity? It has twenty tenses, fifteen genders and sounds like a swarm of angry wasps!_ /

/ _At least it’s not obsessed with binary sexuality and biological indicators of familial relations!_ /

Obi-Wan had the feeling that this was going to be a long, long day.

 


	7. Behind closed doors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Privacy can make all the difference. Somminick Timmns gets a glimpse of what his uneasy friend is like when the Galaxy isn't watching.  
> He's not sure what to make of that.

 

Before Master Timmns could say anything the Sith’s end of the connection picked up a sound so unexpected it left him slightly stunned. “-can’t believe you said that!”

Lord Sar’s expression dissolved into a mask of longsuffering pain. “Vette! I’m on call with the _Jedi_!”

That seemed to do little to curb the riotous laughter. “With a straight face!” The Twi’lek was far enough not to be picked up by the holo but her voice came through loud and clear, much to her master’s chagrin. “Like a Dorn-movie villain, oh my stars!”

Sar stopped mid admonishment. “Wait, I don’t even rate a Cresh? Really?”

“Not with that line, you don’t.”

The Sith seemed to recall they had an audience at the last moment. He gave the frozen Jedi a quick look. “I’ll… get back to you on this.”

The last thing Somminick heard before the call cut out was, “Dorn, Vette? You break my _heart_.”

A moment passed in absolute silence.

“What the _kriff_ did I just watch _._ ”


	8. Persuasive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So a month ago or so I read this comic: (spoilers for Shadow of Revan on the other side of the link, people)
> 
> http://championsandheroes.smackjeeves.com/comics/2581813/swtor-shadow-of-revan-spoiler-persuasive/
> 
> Yesterday I actually played the scene with my Sith Warrior and… I’m dying over here, okay?

 

 

This was a disaster. It was- it was a _crisis_. Maybe one of the greatest the Order had ever faced while its safekeeping had been in her hands.

Satele resolutely banished any other thought from her mind.

Her strict gaze wandered over the assembled Jedi. Masters and Knights, to the last, seasoned and proven. Their best, their _brightest_ , in mind, body and spirit.

And they had been _subverted_.

This insidiousness would be brought to an end. Now.

“Alright.” They were too disciplined to wince at her tone. That didn’t mean the Force didn’t ring with how much they _wanted_ to. “Show of hands. I do not care if he’s a- a fling, an acquaintance, a friend with or without benefits or a, “ Force help her, she couldn’t believe she was saying this, “ _booty call_ , exactly how many of you have the _Emperor’s Wrath on speed dial_?”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll leave the rest to your imagination xD


End file.
